


A Splendid Choice

by EmynIthilien



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Community: got_exchange, Gen, Stannis takes the Black with Jon as Lord Commander, switched power dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 09:23:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5622007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmynIthilien/pseuds/EmynIthilien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>King Stannis Baratheon elects to join the Night’s Watch instead of being burnt alive by dragonfire—a decision that Lord Commander Jon Snow has more trouble coming to terms with than he thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Splendid Choice

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written back in December for the 14th round of [got_exchange](http://got-exchange.livejournal.com/) on livejournal. Outboxed had some quite open-ended prompts, so I decided to write a story focusing on Stannis and Jon since she's a huge fan of both of those characters.

_We made it through hell and back again,_  
_We were slipping through cracks staring at the end,_  
_And we braved the weather._  
_Hurricane couldn’t take you from me,_  
_I’m holding on tight and I still believe,_  
_It just gets better_.

Lyrics from [“Hurricane”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SJLIX1wTymU) by Lifehouse

 

I.

“Where is he?”

“The top of the Wall, my lord.”

“The top of the Wall?”

“Aye.” Satin looked up from the black tunic he was mending. Jon had to give his steward credit for knowing which “he” Jon was referring to.

Satin continued speaking. “He climbed the stairs with the thin black cloak, needle, and thread that I provided for him.”

Jon dearly hoped that the cloak, needle, and thread weren’t somehow being made into a noose. He shook the thought from his mind as he strode over to the winch cage and signaled for it to rise. This was Stannis Baratheon. The man was prideful and stubborn to a fault, but he was no coward.

Stannis was sitting at the base of one of the broken catapults, trying but failing to cover the cloth-of-gold on his rich black fur cloak by sewing the thin black cloak over it. He was muttering curses under his breath, damning the thread to every one of the seven hells when it refused to pass through the eye of the needle on its seventh attempt.

Jon cleared his throat. “Your Grace…”

“I am no longer a king, Lord Snow. You of all people should remember that, as well as all the muttering that your brothers did behind your back when you _graced_ me with that title when I _was_ the rightful king.”

“You still are.”

Stannis snorted and looked up at him. “You’re welcome to discuss the matter with the Targaryen girl again. Her dragons aren’t forgiving creatures.”

Daenerys Targaryen had left the Wall a fortnight ago, flying away on her gigantic black beast as her army of Unsullied, sellswords, and former slaves marched down the Kingsroad. Her three dragons had been immense help in subduing the White Walkers and their thralls, but now that the undead hadn’t been sighted for a week she deemed it time to leave the frozen edge of the world and take back the Iron Throne that she claimed was hers _by rights_. Jon had begged her to stay, trying to impress upon her that no throne was worth sitting while the dead surely still walked, but the Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains, and Mother of Dragons could not be swayed. She could also not be swayed in her judgment of the lawful king of Westeros. Despite the fact that Stannis and his army had fought with her and hers side by side, he was still a _usurper_. Jon didn’t think he would ever forget the final confrontation between two of the most unyielding people that he had ever met:

_“Because I am a merciful queen, I will give you a choice, Stannis Baratheon. Bend the knee to me and take the Black, or you will watch my dragons burn your men and your daughter alive before suffering the same fate yourself.”_

_“I will never bend the knee to you, Daenerys Targaryen. Your father and brother brought nothing but fire and blood to the realm, and you have no right to the throne that was justly won by my brother Robert nearly twenty years ago.”_

_“Is that your final decision?”_

_“Yes. But your dragons won’t be burning anyone.” Stannis took off his cloth-of-gold cloak and flipped it around so only its lining of thick black fur was showing. “The Night’s Watch takes no part in the affairs of the realm, and its members are stripped of all of their previous crimes. I am under no obligation to kneel to you, and you have no authority to condemn me for failing to do so.”_

There was nothing Daenerys could do after that, not unless she wanted to alienate herself from the people of Westeros by failing to respect the neutrality of the Night’s Watch. Jon rather suspected that she wished _him_ dead as well, all for the terrible crime of being the son of one of the evil _usurper’s dogs_. But she was gone, and Jon prayed daily to the Old Gods that the White Walkers slept through the next hundred winters so he would never need to call upon the help of the dragons ever again.

Jon turned his attention back to Stannis. “How do you wish to be addressed, then?”

Stannis thought about it for a long moment, his deep blue eyes trained on the frozen lands north of the Wall.

“Lord Stannis will suit. I was the Lord of Dragonstone before you could walk, and I suppose I was the Lord of Storm’s End as well when my brother Renly died for his treasons.”

Stannis gave a long sigh, setting aside the black pile of furs and cloth in his hands and leaning his head back on the wooden catapult frame. The wood was covered with a layer of frost that surely must be cold to the touch, but Jon figured that Stannis was thinking about things much more serious than frostbite. Things like the abrupt end of his long fight to take the Iron Throne, the sight of loyal men rising from the dead with chilling blue eyes, and the memory of his daughter tearfully hugging him farewell.

 _At least it was_ my _choice to join the Night’s Watch,_ thought Jon. _Eddard Stark didn’t banish me to the Wall like Randyll Tarly did Sam, and any regrets I have about the vows that I swore are all my own._ Jon looked pointedly at Stannis’ discarded pile of furs.

“You could’ve asked one of the stewards to sew the cloak for you.”

“I feared my tone of voice would be rather harsh given the occurrences as of late, and the hapless steward would think that I was ordering him about. Which I am not in a position to do so.” Stannis’ words were laced with bitterness.

“All brothers of the Night’s Watch are allowed to ask for help from each other,” Jon responded levelly.

“I’m sure you can imagine how often I’ve _asked_ for help on a menial task such as sewing a cloak.”

Jon could. Stannis Baratheon was a man used to giving orders and being obeyed, save perhaps by his social equals. Men might call him Lord Stannis until he died, but that still didn’t change the fact that he now held no power over any lands or anyone—and never would. _Relinquishing the mantle of authority after having worn it for so long is no easy feat. As long as it took for me to get used to being Lord Commander, it would be even harder to get used to not having the title._

“I know that I’m not the first lord or even the first king to be banished to the Wall, Lord Snow. I have no more importance than all the thieves, rapers, poachers, and…” Stannis paused, shooting a look at Jon. “And bastards at this frozen end of the realm. I’ve accepted that fact, but it will take me some time to accept the fact with the grace and humility that the Targaryen girl thinks I should.”

It wouldn’t surprise Jon if Stannis accepted that fact as quickly as he did all the other slights that he had suffered in his life. Not that the former king had ever given Jon a detailed list, but Jon still had an idea. _A man doesn’t fight a war without learning something about his fellow commanders, after all_. King Robert had denied his brother Storm’s End, King Robert had ruined his brother’s wedding, King Robert had passed over his brother for Hand of the King, King Robert had always favored Ned Stark over anyone…And then there was Renly. Jon was sorely tempted to _command_ Stannis to never dwell on the past again, much like he had _commanded_ Sam to be brave. But that would just make him a hypocrite, as Jon had his own host of problems that he’d never get over.

“You still have respect,” Jon blurted out, causing Stannis to look at him strangely. “No dragon can ever take that away from you. The Night’s Watch will be forever grateful to you, as will the North for getting rid of the Greyjoys and the Boltons. I have no doubt that your daughter will tell the rest of the realm all that you did—and are still doing—to prevent the Long Night from coming again. And…” Jon paused, wondering how he should word what he wanted to say. “ _I_ will always respect you, and I will do all in my power as Lord Commander to see that you get the rewards that you deserve.”

Jon held out his hand. Stannis stared at it for a long time, as if he thought that it was some type of trap. Perhaps Jon _did_ want to leave the top of the Wall and sit by a warm fireplace with a goblet of mulled wine, but that was beside the point. He half expected Stannis to brush the gesture aside, trying as long as he could to stave off acknowledging Jon as his superior. _In rank, at least_. But soon enough Jon felt Stannis’ hand firmly grasp his own. Stannis slowly got to his feet, and Jon looked up and met his eyes as he gave a resolute nod.

 

II.

A number of Stannis’ former men had elected to take the Black at the same time as their former king, and a magnificent bonfire was being built in the center of Castle Black’s courtyard to praise R’hllor and commemorate the swearing of their vows to the Night’s Watch. Jon interpreted it as a sign of solidarity. Stannis responded that solidarity had nothing to do with it, that the men simply had no place else to go—and winter was already here.

Stannis watched the assembling of the bonfire with a blank face, but Jon would need to be as blind as Maester Aemon to miss the distaste evident in his eyes. He wondered if Stannis was remembering Melisandre and her gruesome death at the hands of a White Walker, all her red flames utterly useless. “Where do you wish to swear your vows, Lord Stannis? Fires are abundant at the Wall, if you want to find your Red God.”

“My Red God? Lady Melisandre was the one always preaching about R’hllor. I never seriously believed her, though I did use her for her power and her gift of inspiring fear in others.”

“We also have a sept…”

“The gods mean nothing to me,” insisted Stannis harshly, cutting Jon off. “The Seven were nowhere to be found when my parents drowned in front of my eyes, and what use were your Old Gods when the boy Joffrey called for your father’s head? Or when your own men decided to assassinate you?”

Jon stilled, clenching and unclenching his sword hand. My _Old Gods? The Old Gods are silent gods._

“You have to swear your vows _some_ where. It doesn’t matter what place, so long as enough brothers of the Night’s Watch are there to witness it. If you don’t, there’s nothing stopping Daenerys Targaryen from flying up here and burning you alive like she wanted to.”

“Is that a threat?”

 _No_. “What do you think?” answered Jon with a bit more defiance than he planned. He couldn’t tell if Stannis was trying to provoke him or not. Stannis didn’t respond, and Jon willed himself to stay calm. “Westeros has lost too many good men as of late. She won’t lose any more on my watch, not if I can help it.”

Stannis frowned, crossing his arms. “Are there any of your heart trees around? No priest of theirs has ever done me harm.”

“The Old Gods have no priests or holy texts, just the weirwoods. The closest godswood is north of the Wall, but the risk of travelling there…” Stannis’ frown only deepened, and Jon’s patience with him was wearing thin over this matter. “I’ll ask the wildlings. They’ve found places to pray on the Gift. Is that sufficient, Your Gr…” Jon caught himself just in time. “Is that sufficient, my lord?”

“It is, Lord Snow. I daresay that I can stomach another spectacle. But know this: There are no good men. Only those with fewer foul deeds than others.”

Stannis turned and walked away before Jon could answer. All that night, Jon wondered what Stannis had seen—and what he had done—to make him believe that not only were there no gods but no good men as well. Or was he just being cynical like Dolores Edd? Jon started to mentally list all of the men he had met and admired in his life, and it was almost too easy to pick out their flaws: Tyrion Lannister had killed his father, Jeor Mormont had been too trusting, Robb had broken a marriage contract and doomed thousands of men, and his father had strayed from his marriage bed, too ashamed of the act that he never breathed a word of his lover’s name. _And myself. I forced a mother to give up her only child. That wasn’t the type of thing a good man would do, no matter how honorable my intentions were_. Gilly’s terrified eyes and the harshness of her last words to him still haunted Jon’s dreams, along with the faces of the brothers he had unknowingly sent to their deaths, the men that he had willingly and unwillingly killed, and all the undead Others.

Jon sighed, burying his sword hand in Ghost’s soft white fur as his faithful direwolf nuzzled his hip. _Stannis might be right, but I would rather have a flawed man like him at my side than one the likes of Bowen Marsh or Ramsay Snow_. He wondered if it was worth telling Stannis that.

 

III.

Stannis was of great help in helping Jon decide which order and which castle to assign all the new recruits from his former army. Those men who were better sailors than soldiers were sent to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. The literate men who would rather read than fight were made stewards and instructed to assist Clydas with the ravens and library, or else they were set to travel to another castle with a cage of ravens to write frequent reports to their Lord Commander. As well, the few good leaders that Stannis proclaimed to be more trustworthy than the average thief were given garrisons of their own, for the more castles along the Wall that were manned the better.

Despite all of his advice, Stannis made no mention of what role Jon should give to him or which castle he would like to be stationed at. Jon toyed with the idea of appointing Stannis his steward just like Lord Mormont had done to him just to see his reaction, but he quickly dismissed it. _I was a boy who needed to be taught humility and how to follow, lessons that Stannis has long since learned_. Jon thought back on his predecessor, wondering if Lord Mormont would approve of the direction that Jon had taken the Night’s Watch. _I hope Lord Mormont thinks that I learned my lessons well, and that Qhorin Halfhand got to tell him that I never truly turned my cloak._

~

“I’m appointing you First Ranger.”

“You’re trying to placate me.”

 _I placated Janos Slynt, for all the good it did him,_ thought Jon. “If you think I hand out titles simply because a man had an impressive name before he came to the Wall, you’ve sorely misjudged me.”

Stannis raised his eyebrows.

“You’re the most experienced battle commander in Westeros, Lord Stannis. At my age you held Storm’s End against the might of the Reach for an entire year, then turned right around to build a fleet and take Dragonstone from the Targaryens. You defeated the Ironborn at sea during Balon Greyjoy’s first rebellion. When the Night’s Watch called for aid, you were the only king who came to our need. And lastly and most importantly, you were the only king to join the fight against the White Walkers, an enemy that even Daenerys Targaryen and her dragons won’t take more seriously until the Red Keep is frozen solid.”

Jon didn’t know why he had been giving Stannis so many compliments as of late, knowing how much Stannis despised flattery. Jon rationalized that the rightful king _should_ have many admirable qualities, and that he also should be able to tell if a man was being insincere.

Stannis’ eyebrows were still raised and his face remained a mask, as if he were still waiting for Jon to get to his point. He had an objection, naturally:

“There are rangers older and more experienced than myself, who know the lands north of the Wall blind better than you do with both eyes. Why not appoint me the commander of one of the other castles on the Wall, or perhaps the captain of one of the Night’s Watch’s ships?”

Jon wasn’t surprised by Stannis’ points, and he had seriously considered promoting one of the senior rangers. However, despite his lack of knowledge vis à vis the north of the Wall, Jon knew that Stannis readily heeded good advice no matter the source, and that he adapted well to new situations. Or else attacking Mance Rayder’s host and eliminating the Boltons would already have finished him off. Truth be told, Jon also had a rather personal reason for making Stannis First Ranger and keeping him at Castle Black. _A Lord Commander has no friends, but he still needs people around him who he trusts. Ignoring that truth got me killed once, and I will not let it kill me a second time._

“Winter is always coming. When it comes and the dead wake again, I want to have a man like you by my side who knows how to lead and lead well.”

It was a long time before Stannis replied.

“I accept, Lord Snow. It’s seems I haven’t misjudged you as much as you might think.”

 

IV.

Disciplining the Night’s Watch became a top priority of Stannis’ as First Ranger, for the men at the Wall had become a mishmash of black brothers, wildlings, former soldiers, and old men and young boys who had no place else to go. He talked long with veteran rangers such as Dywen, wildlings such as Leathers who had taken the Black, and anyone else who knew the north of the Wall better than him. Jon let Stannis do as he wished, for he had yet to fault any of his actions. Stannis started to set men to range _south_ of the Wall, for purposes as diverse as hunting game and warning anyone who lived on the Gift to keep as much dry firewood on hand as possible—the dead needed to be burnt, after all, lest they become the undead.

Dolorous Edd, the new First Steward, was convinced that he and Stannis must be related. They shared the same cynicism, he said, but Stannis claimed that he was merely realistic. Jon didn’t think there was any difference. Stannis predictably ground his teeth when Edd showed him the Night’s Watch’s dwindling food stores, yet he stopped and nearly laughed when he saw the contract that Jon had signed with the Braavosi banker to bring food to the Wall throughout winter.

Tormund Giantsbane often visited Castle Black from his seat at Oakenshield to give reports, for he refused to let a literate man send ravens for him. He had a deep mistrust of the written word, and Jon didn’t fault him after the disaster that Ramsay Snow’s letter had brought. Stannis had heeded Jon’s advice that Tormund was the type of man who would make a good friend and a bad enemy. While _befriend_ was not a word Stannis seemed to have in his vocabulary, he treated Tormund with the respect that one capable leader should show to another.

“I thought me life was over when I started taking orders from the Lord Crow,” Tormund once confided in Jon. “But now I’m taking orders from the King Crow and not complaining. You need to get him to drink more mead, though.”

“Why?”

“So he can stop frowning so much. It’s unnatural!”

“He does stop frowning,” said Jon, scratching his chin and watching Stannis instruct a band of wildlings on how to best fight _together_ rather than every berserker for himself. “When he scowls.”

Tormund gave a hearty laugh and slapped his stomach, taking a long sip from a skin hanging at his hip.

 

V.

Despite the freezing chill and the howling wind, Castle Black’s courtyard was not empty a few minutes past dawn. Jon was out there, Longclaw in hand and clad in black leathers, wool, and mail, moving through drills taught to him by Ser Rodrick Cassel and Ser Endrew Tarth. Valyrian steel swords were the swords of heroes, and while Jon was only a bastard, he could still try and make himself worthy of all the men who had claimed to have seen much promise in him. Father, Uncle Benjen, Lord Mormont, Qhorin Halfhand, Maester Aemon, Mance Rayder…all now dead before their time. As well, Jon found early morning practices rather soothing, for they gave him time to think without hordes of eyes watching his every move. And judging him, for even though Jon knew that he had nominal respect from the men of the Night’s Watch, he wasn’t deaf to all the whispers that declared him half a wildling, half a wolf, and half a wight, for how else could he still be walking after having bled out in the snow?

Jon pivoted, putting Longclaw through a series of overhand cuts as he tried to avoid stepping on patches of ice that were hidden beneath the mud and the snow. Ghost was rolling in a fresh snow bank nearby with Mormont’s raven circling overhead.

“You have gone through the same set of drills for more than an hour now, Lord Snow. I daresay that your form is beginning to worsen.”

Badly startled, Jon whirled around and quickly brought his sword up in front of his chest, ready to defend himself against the intruder. Lord Stannis was leaning against the doorframe to the armory, arms crossed and a frown on his stern face. His black cloak flapped against him.

“How long have you been watching me?” said Jon after a number of deep breaths. Stannis didn’t reply, simply raising an eyebrow and walking forward.

“May I see your sword?” inquired Stannis.

“My sword?” Jon repeated. No one had ever asked that of him before, and besides, swords were rather _personal_. A squire might clean and carry a sword for a knight, but Jon would never have dreamed of demanding that father let him hold Ice in the midst of him practicing with it. Stannis wasn’t exactly _demanding_ or commanding anything, but it was always hard to tell if he had ever learned the difference between ask and demand. Jon looked at Stannis carefully, the only feeling he could gage from the older man being mild curiosity. Shrugging, Jon handed Longclaw over hilt-first. Stannis grasped it with one of his large hands, turning the weapon over and studying it from the direwolf pommel up to the tip.

“You look in need of a greater contest, Lord Snow, for sparring against ghosts will only get you so far.”

“Oh? And what do you propose?”

Stannis’ eyes flicked from Jon to Longclaw.

“I challenge you to a duel, lasting until first blood or first surrender.”

Jon gave an incredulous laugh. “And you armed with Valyrian steel? Forgive me, Lord Stannis, but that leaves me rather at a disadvantage.”

“Here.” With his free hand, Stannis drew his own sword from its place at his hip and held it out to Jon. Lightbringer still shone as brightly as the sun, though the ruby at its hilt no longer glowed. “Would fighting with this sufficiently even the odds?”

On a subconscious level Jon knew that Stannis’ Lightbringer wasn’t Azor Ahai’s Lightbringer, for it was cold to the touch and had yet to set anything aflame—or kill a White Walker. But Stannis’ weapon was still a beautiful sword, and Stannis always looked like a hero from the songs whenever he fought with it. Jon felt a bit awed as he took Lightbringer with his right hand, watching the flames dance up and down the blade. He had always been curious to know what it was like to fight with it, to know if fiery steel would give him any more advantage than Valyrian steel. _Is that the same question that Stannis is asking himself, just in reverse?_ Stannis was still examining Longclaw, now testing the edge with a gloved thumb. Jon’s eyes roved over him and the image he made. _I’ll admit to being even more curious to know how I fare against Stannis as a swordsman, if he’d have more respect for me if I can match him stroke for stroke and put his own sword to his throat._

Jon glanced over to Ghost. The direwolf was now sitting very still, his blood-red eyes trained on the pair of them. Since Ghost made no move to stop the fight or indicate that Stannis meant Jon any harm…

“I accept, Lord Stannis. However, if you kill me Ghost will rip out your throat.”

 _That_ was meant to be a threat. Stannis seemed to understand that quite readily, and the corners of his mouth began to turn up in amusement. _If he even knows what that is_. Neither of them bothered with armor or shields, for this wasn’t a fight meant to batter each other with blow after blow of blunt weapons, but one of skill to prove who could handle a sword better.

Stannis came to stand across from him after removing his cloak, and Jon positioned his feet and raised Lightbringer in a two-handed grip. They circled each other for some moments, trying to gauge who would strike first. In battle, Stannis was never the type of commander trying to vie with his warriors for the most kills. He planned everything to the minutest detail beforehand and watched the battle from the back, only joining the fray when it was absolutely necessary or on some surprise attack. _If he’s just going to wait…_

Jon rushed at Stannis, moving Lightbringer through a quick series of cuts that Stannis blocked easily. Jon ducked as Longclaw flew by his head, coming so close that he could hear it whistle as it nearly sheared the tips of his hair. He jumped back up, only to dodge another blow aimed at his right shoulder. Jon quickly parried another blow to the same place and spun to the left, taking a deep breath and meeting Longclaw with Lightbringer on Stannis’ next downstroke. Steel clashed and Lightbringer’s flames seemed to double in brightness. Jon closed his eyes for a split second lest he be blinded, and a slight hesitance on Stannis’ part told Jon that even he was not immune to effects of the light.

If only Lightbringer had other powers.

Lightbringer was shorter than Longclaw, but it was heavier as well. Jon quickly realized this as he put the sword through a long combination designed to tire an opponent with successive strikes aimed high at the head and low at the feet. Stannis brushed aside all of the strikes with ease, no matter how much strength Jon put behind them. Every cut, every thrust, and every crash of swords proved Stannis was good. Stannis was very, _very_ good, and Jon immediately knew that he was outmatched. Jon was quicker, sure, but Stannis was stronger with more reach due to his greater height.

Jon guessed that he was giving away more ground than he should, but he was still matching Stannis blow for blow. No blood had been drawn yet, though Jon had barely avoided Longclaw’s edge more than Stannis had Lightbringer’s. _If I can just keep this up for a little longer_ …Jon’s arm muscles screamed as he deflected a slash aimed at his left hip, and he stumbled and nearly lost his footing on a patch of ice covered by snow. Stannis used this to his advantage and drove Jon back. The Wall loomed dark and menacing behind him, and he knew that unless he did something drastic he would soon find himself pinned against the ice. When Mance Rayder had once reduced Jon’s shield to kindling and was bearing down upon him with a monstrous greatsword, Jon had thrown his sword aside and tackled the man to the ground in hopes of defeating him by catching him off guard. That strategy wouldn’t work here, not that it had particularly worked with Mance. Stannis would outright win any kind of wrestling match, and without armor Jon really didn’t want to take the chance of dying on his own sword.

On the next pass Jon angled Lightbringer and caught Longclaw against the crossguard, locking the swords together. Grey eyes met blue through the crossed blades, and Jon ground his teeth hard and threw all he had into standing his ground, hoping to physically force Longclaw from Stannis’ hands. But Stannis never wavered. Stannis pressed forward and Jon was forced to lean back, and in the process Lightbringer was ripped from his grip and dropped to the ground. In no time at all, Jon felt the press of Longclaw’s tip just below his chin, cold as ice. Qhorin Halfhand’s words of _“Is your sword sharp, Jon Snow?”_ echoed in Jon’s mind as he spread his hands and accepted defeat.

“Do you yield to me, Lord Snow?” asked Stannis, still holding Longclaw to Jon’s throat. Jon felt his chin be lifted slightly with the sword, giving Stannis a better look at him. 

“I yield.”

Stannis lowered Longclaw after much longer than was surely necessary, and Jon let go of a breath he wasn’t aware of holding. Jon spat a mouthful of blood onto the ground and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. His bottom lip stung, and he wondered at what point he had bitten it. Jon bent down and picked up Lightbringer, ready to give the sword back and start on his duties for the day.

Stannis was still standing in the same place where he had bested Jon, save that Longclaw was flipped around and held out by the direwolf pommel. Jon exchanged swords with him, noting the pleased look on Stannis’ face. That was odd, for the former king wasn’t one to gloat.

“I always wondered what it would be like to fight with Valyrian steel,” began Stannis.

“And?” replied Jon.

“You have a magnificent weapon, Jon Snow. A swordsman should be half as good as his blade. You’ll be there soon enough.”

Jon nearly dropped Longclaw like he had just done with Lightbringer. _He wasn’t pleased about his own victory, he was pleased with…me_. Despite the aching of his muscles and despite the humiliation of losing a fight against his own sword, it was worth it just to hear Stannis say that.

“What did you think of Lightbringer?” asked Stannis as he sheathed the said sword.

“It’s a decent sword,” said Jon in a neutral tone of voice, which Stannis caught.

“You weren’t impressed?”

Jon was wary of giving his true opinion, unsure of what Stannis thought of Lightbringer and not wanting to offend him. _But then again, this is the same man who told me that there are no gods or good men because that’s the truth as he sees it_. “Lightbringer feels just like any other longsword that the Night’s Watch has in its armory.”

Stannis gave a nod, approving of Jon’s answer. “That’s because there _is_ nothing special about it. It glows like the sunrise, to be sure, but that’s as much use against the White Walkers as golden armor. If Azor Ahai existed, this wasn’t his sword.”

 

VI.

Unable to bear children herself, Daenerys Targaryen had appointed Shireen Baratheon the heir to the Iron Throne as well as the Lady of Storm’s End. The crown that she had won by fire was to always remain in the hands of those with the blood of the dragon, a situation that Jon found a dark sense of humor in—for Daenerys was willing to call Shireen kin but unwilling to see Stannis as anything more than a usurper. Shireen would often write letters to her father, telling him of all the idiocies and hypocrisies going on in King’s Landing and asking advice on how to best manage Storm’s End. Ser Davos was with her, serving her as faithfully as he had done her father. The letters always ended with the line “I miss you very much, father.” Even though Stannis had never expressed a similar sentiment out loud, the faraway look in his eyes whenever he read his daughter’s letters told Jon that the feeling was mutual.

 

VII.

Even when there weren’t any battles, men still died at the Wall. The cold saw to that. Jon was presiding over the funeral of Alyn of the Grey Cliffs, one of the greybeards sent to the Night’s Watch by Lady Alys Karstark. Winter was hitting the North hard, yet Alys was fulfilling her promise to send her people to him instead of letting them starve or go on a hunt and never return. Alyn’s heart had simply stopped in the night with no evidence of foul play. Jon could think of no death more peaceful.

Jon lit the funeral pyre himself, passing the torch on to Lord Stannis and his other officers so they could give their proper respects as well. Stannis stood on his right, arms behind his back. When the flames had climbed high and engulfed all the wood and flesh in their path, Stannis turned toward Jon.

“Is there a life after this one?”

“Why would you ask me that?” said Jon, puzzled.

“You died,” said Stannis simply. “There are hundreds of men who witnessed you bleed out in the snow, and just as many can attest to seeing you walk out of your funeral pyre. If there is truly a place like the seven heavens or the seven hells that the septons preach about, you would know better than anyone.”

“I don’t know.”

Stannis raised an eyebrow and frowned, as if saying that Jon could do better than that. In all honesty Jon had never thought about whether there really was an afterlife or not. He hoped there was. He wanted to see Ygritte’s crooked smile again, he wanted to laugh with Robb and ruffle Arya’s hair, he wanted to ask his father so many questions…

“When I was stabbed, before I lost consciousness…” Jon had never tried to explain what had happened to anyone before, not that anyone had ever dared ask. He didn’t know why he was telling all of this to Stannis, but Stannis seemed genuinely interested, and _I trust him not to judge me unfairly. I trust that he’ll still be able to meet my eyes and tell me what I need to hear and not treat me like a god or a demon_. “I was remembering the last words I said to my sister Arya, and then I dreamed that I was Ghost. It was the oddest sensation. I was freed from a locked room and then ran over to my body and stayed with it until it was put on a large pyre. I—Ghost—was prevented from leaping onto the flames, and then suddenly I woke up and walked out of the flames like they were nothing at all, my wounds all miraculously healed.”

Jon rubbed at the long white scar on his neck, knowing that there was a similar one on his stomach and presumably one on his back where the third knife had taken him between the shoulder blades. His hair had all burnt away on the pyre, but it had since returned—if only he could say the same for his faith in his fellow brothers of the Night’s Watch. Bowen Marsh, Wick Wittlestick, and the rest of his killers had been dispatched in the chaos following his stabbing, denying Jon the chance of sending the same message that he had sent with the decapitation of Janos Slynt. _An afterlife should be peaceful, and end to pain. The last time I felt peace was when Arya hugged me goodbye at Winterfell._

“If there is a life after this one I never saw it.”

Stannis didn’t appear at all alarmed. “I thought as much. The septons preach that those who reside for all time in the seven heavens are able to send signs to those still living. I was so sure that my parents would come back to me in some way and tell me that they were okay.”

Jon had a feeling that this story didn’t have a happy ending.

“But they never did. Ever since then I knew that death was the end and that I was quite alone.”

 _Listen to the pair of us_ , thought Jon. _Two embittered men talking about the finality of death while honoring death. Stannis asked me about the afterlife because he must still have had hope, and I went and killed that. Surely there’s something positive that I can say_. “Perhaps I never died, despite what everyone claims,” said Jon in a light voice. “Just because there’s no logical answer doesn’t mean a thing can’t be true. That’s what I tell myself, at least, for all the Old Gods and the New know that there’s no logical reason why I should still be alive.”

Surprisingly, Stannis seemed calmed by that answer.

“All the whispers are true, then. You _are_ half a wolf.”

“I always have been.” Jon grinned at Stannis, despite the seriousness of the situation. Ghost, who had been sitting sentinel at Jon’s side, gave his hand a lick and then brushed past him to nose at Stannis’ right hip.

“Yes,” said Stannis slowly, as he tentatively stroked the white fur on the wolf’s head. “No one will ever be able to deny that you’re a Stark through and through.”

Stannis remained with Jon until all the flames had died away, longer than any of the other men. They all had other duties to get to after all, and it had always been up to the Lord Commander himself to make sure that the bones of his brothers finally rested in peace. From a distance Stannis’ cloak appeared completely black, but up close Jon could see places where the cloth-of-gold hadn’t been completely sewn over.

 

VIII.

Jon caught himself watching Stannis whenever he could. He had watched him before, when the queen’s men had been vying in vain for his favor and when he had been telling Daenerys Targaryen what to do with her dragons and where to position her troops. There was much that Jon could learn from him, for if Stannis knew anything, he knew how to plan and command. In a way Stannis reminded Jon very much of father, save that father wasn’t quite so serious and reserved. Still, however much Jon strove to emulate certain aspects of Stannis’ character and no matter how many times he asked Stannis for advice, Jon still wanted—and _needed_ —to be his own man. The wildlings might have nicknamed Stannis “King Crow,” but Jon worked hard to prove that _he_ was the Lord Commander and that the Wall was unquestionably _his_ until his death. _However many lives I live._

 

IX.

“We ride for the Nightfort at once.”

Jon had been sharing a glass of mulled wine with Stannis in his solar when Clydas had delivered a message sealed with black wax. Well, _Jon_ was drinking mulled wine while Stannis was drinking boiled water with salt. Stannis preferred lemons with his boiled water, but he had insisted that Dolorous Edd ration the store that Lord Mormont had amassed.

Once the black wax had been broken, Jon had been astonished to read that the ranger Stonesnake had traversed the Skirling Pass back to the Wall, where he had crossed the ice using the secret passage at the Nightfort. But Stonesnake’s reappearance wasn’t what made Jon’s heart beat faster—it was the news that Stonesnake had discovered Benjen Stark and Brandon Stark living in a cave with the Children of the Forest. _The grey direwolf that saved me at Queenscrown was_ Summer, _it had to be_. Theon Greyjoy’s last words had been that he hadn’t killed Robb’s brothers, and Lord Manderly had captured an Ironborn soldier who swore that Bran and Rickon—and their direwolves—had escaped Winterfell alive after its burning by Ramsay Snow. _Everything fits. There’s truth there, to be sure._

Stannis, predictably, thought the letter as truthful as the songs. Or _The Seven Pointed Star._

“ _We_ are not going to.”

“Are you disobeying my order, Lord Stannis?”

“No. I am _counseling_ you, Lord Snow, before you get yourself killed over a damn letter for the second time!”

“Ramsay Snow’s letter didn’t kill me,” replied Jon. “My own men killed me.”

Stannis snorted. “Only because you swallowed what the bastard wrote. This situation is no different.”

That stung, but at least Stannis hadn’t thrown Jon’s decision to march on Winterfell into the argument. Yet. “The White Walkers were believed to exist only in wet nurse tales, and we both know that to be false. Why couldn’t it be the same with the Children of the Forest?”

“You’re letting your emotions rule your head.” Stannis took a sip of his salt water, drumming the fingers of his right hand on Jon’s desk.

“Logic…”

“There might be no logical reason for _you_ to be alive, but it’s logical for one of your enemies to try and lure you away from Castle Black. Your family is your greatest weakness. You broke all kinds of vows for the imposter Arya Stark, so what wouldn’t you do for news of your uncle and brother? They’re likely dead. Get over it.”

The legs of Jon’s chair screeched as he angrily stood up. He stalked over to the window and dug his fingers into the sill, urging himself to be calm. Shouting at Stannis would only prove that his emotions were indeed ruling his head. Jon did _not_ want to get over the loss of his family however much he knew that he should, for to accept that all of the Starks were likely dead would be accepting the fact that death was the end and that he was very much alone. _Just like Stannis believes. But Shireen is still alive and well, at least._

Stannis didn’t say anything more, and Jon felt the other man come to stand by his side as he determinedly started at the white of the snow outside. Jon ran his fingers through his dark hair, breathing deep.

“Things weren’t supposed to happen this way,” said Jon to himself, yet he knew that Stannis was listening intently. “Benjen Stark was supposed to come back from his ranging years ago, my father was supposed to be Lord of Winterfell until he was old and grey, and my siblings were supposed to live to see their own children have children. Yet now there’s just me, and I’m stuck fighting the undead and making impossible decisions. All while being so damn _cold_.”

“That’s what leadership _is_ , Lord Snow. You have the freedom to make your own decisions, but those decisions impact the lives of more than just your own. There is no joy in being in command, as I’ve known for nearly twenty years, but as long as you persevere and do your duty no one can fault you.”

Jon sighed and bit his lip.

“You chose this, Jon.”

“And you didn’t?” Jon shot back. He wondered if Stannis was trying to comfort him. If so, he really wasn’t in the mood for it.

“Daenerys Targaryen gave me a splendid choice: Bend the knee to her and take the Black or watch everything of mine be incinerated by her damned dragons before being burned alive myself. House Baratheon has always been known for its pride and stubbornness, and I’m not so conceited as to think that those characteristics are not among my faults. But pride wasn’t worth enough to me to condemn my daughter, my Lord Hand, my wife, and all the rest of the men who followed me to the Wall and beyond to a terrible fate. You once said that I was the most experienced battle commander in Westeros? A good battle commander knows well how to win a battle, but he also knows when to retreat—and when to surrender.

 _That_ was why I made my choice. Why did _you_ choose to come to the Wall, Lord Commander Jon Snow? Was your life at Winterfell so terribly hard, with a loving father and siblings all around you? Or did you think you would earn glory, serving with a band of noble, honorable men at the end of the world?”

It took all of Jon’s self control not to lash out at Stannis, to scream at him that he had no right to speak to him in such a fashion, that no matter how much Robert and Renly had slighted him he had no _idea_ what it was like to grow up as a bastard and to have the realm think nothing good of him. _So much for my attempt to stay calm_. But as much as Stannis’ sharp words cut through him like the knives of assassins, they hit at the truth—a truth that Jon had tried his hardest to bury deep inside of him. And that was as infuriating as it was humbling.

Jon took another deep breath, opening and closing his sword hand. He focused on the scars that stretched up his fingers to his wrist, before disappearing underneath the black wool and leather of his shirtsleeve. He tried but failed to meet Stannis’ eyes, so he tried again. And again. Finally, Jon ground his teeth and _forced_ himself to hold Stannis’ gaze with his own.

“I know what the Night’s Watch is. Perhaps I didn’t, at the beginning, but that was also before I knew who the true enemy of the realm was. Do I sometimes wish I had chosen differently?” _Yes_. “But now the Wall is mine, and I have a duty to guard the realm. If I ever stop doing it, or if the Night’s Watch ever turns its eyes south instead of north, then everything and everyone we hold dear will be destroyed.”

Stannis crossed his arms, not breaking Jon’s gaze. Jon didn’t know how they had come to stand so absurdly close to one another. It was almost like being back outside in Castle Black’s courtyard, staring at each other over crossed blades.

“Are you satisfied, Stannis? Or will you ever be satisfied, knowing that fate has never given you what you wanted?”

“You presume to know what I’ve wanted?”

“You wanted to be king.”

Surprisingly, Stannis began to laugh. And laugh and laugh, but there was no mirth in his voice.

“I never wanted to be king. I _was_ the king, for it was my duty as Robert’s heir.”

“You…” But Jon was tired of sparring with words, and he seemed to be making as much progress as when he sparred fiery steel against Valyrian steel. He wanted to end this conversation here and now, but he had a feeling that Stannis would persist until Jon yielded and admitted being at fault.

“Get out.” Jon was surprised at how cold his voice was. Stannis’ laughter disappeared, to be replaced with yet another frown. “Get out of my solar. That is an order, Lord Stannis.” _I’m the Lord Commander and the Wall is mine. I have every right to order men out of my rooms, and nowhere in my vows does it say that I have to be kind about it._

Stannis took a step backward, adjusting his cloak. “It seems that I’ve angered the boy commander. I will speak with Lord Snow later.” With that, he turned and walked out the door, not looking back. As soon as Jon heard the hinge snap shut, he quickly made his way to his bedchamber and threw himself on his furs. As he fell into a fitful sleep, Stannis’ last words kept repeating themselves over and over and over in his mind.

“I killed the boy, I killed him long ago!” Jon said into his furs. “Haven’t I proven that to you yet?”

 

X.

The white wolf was curled up by the fireplace. His master’s steward had always been poor at keeping the fire lit—until the wolf began to silently snarl at him with barred teeth. There was movement outside the door to where all the steel was kept, but the wolf stayed where he was. He could smell the tall man with the harsh voice, but he knew that this man never meant any harm to his master. Despite all the times he argued with his master. The door creaked open and the tall man strode purposefully in, coming to sit in one of the hard chairs on the opposite side of his master’s desk. The white wolf got up onto his paws and stretched, opening his jaws to yawn. He padded over to the tall man and nudged at his hip, and after a pause he felt one of those large hands leisurely thread its way through the fur at the scruff of his neck and scratch behind his ears, the room around him beginning to dissolve…

…As Jon opened his eyes and watched the light of early dawn creep under the windowsill. He would rather like to lie under his warm furs for a while longer, having someone scratch behind his ears… _No, that’s Ghost_. But sometimes it was very hard to separate what he was doing compared to his wolf, especially when he dreamt. And when he got stabbed.

A loud knock on his door forced Jon to open his eyes wider, and he could hear the doorknob creak as Satin poked his head though the slowly opening door.

“My lord?” asked Satin cautiously.

“What is it?”

“Lord Stannis is without. He requests an audience, and he’s rather…impatient.”

“I’m sure he is.” Jon had been wondering when he would have to face Stannis again and come up with an explanation for his actions from the night before. _At least it will be over first thing, so I can gage how much respect I lost by telling him to get out of my sight like a petulant child._

“I’ll tell him that you’ll be out shortly,” nodded Satin. “Your breakfast is waiting for you on your desk.” Satin shut the door and disappeared, leaving Jon to throw off his furs and yawn as he got to his feet and stretched.

Stannis was in Jon’s solar, though he hadn’t needed Satin to tell him that. Stannis was arranging what looked like at least ten tiny rolls of parchment on his desk, all sealed with black wax except for one.

“Lord Snow,” said Stannis in greeting. “I see that you’ve finally decided to grace us with your presence.”

“It’s barely past dawn.”

“And you’re usually awake before then, doing something productive like practicing swordplay. You must have had a very exhausting night.”

Jon arched an eyebrow. “If you think that one argument is enough to tire me out, Lord Stannis, I’m sure that I can find a way to prove you wrong. Perhaps another duel, save that I get to be the one armed with Valyrian steel?”

“I’ll take you up on that offer, when the right occasion occurs.”

 _Things are going rather well_. Jon refused to get his hopes up, however, choosing instead to focus on all of the messages laid out on his desk.

“Clydas was kept awake most of the night by the arrival of many ravens,” said Stannis by way of explanation.

Jon reached for one of the parchment rolls with black wax and broke the seal, frowning as he read the message and passed it to Stannis. His frown only deepened as he made his way through the black wax sealed messages, for every single one of them was from a garrisoned castle west of Castle Black from Queensgate to the Shadow Tower, and every single one made mention of White Walkers being seen from the top of the Wall heading in the direction of…the Nightfort. There was no message from the Nightfort in addition to the one from the night before.

Jon sighed, reaching for the apple on his breakfast tray and biting into it. It was going to be another long day, and the White Walker sightings weren’t going to make it any easier. All the creatures were heading to the Nightfort? Had they discovered the passage through the Wall and were preparing to assault it? Did Stonesnake really make in through the Wall after all? Jon glanced at Stannis. He had piled all the opened messages in a corner of Jon’s desk, staring at the last message, a parchment of slightly different coloring sealed with golden wax and the impression of a stag.

“You can open that one yourself, you know,” said Jon quietly, recognizing Shireen’s handwriting.

“That would be improper. The Lord Commander should take care to make sure his men aren’t plotting with other lords behind his back.”

 _Like Bowen Marsh had done with Lord Tywin, who wanted to see Janos Slynt become the next Lord Commander._ “As you say, Lord Stannis.” Shireen’s words always made Jon smile, and this time was no exception. She was becoming very friendly with Daenerys Targaryen’s white dragon, much to the astonishment of the court at King’s Landing. It would be fitting if the girl were to become a dragonrider, not to mention ironic. Regardless, she would be able to visit her father at the Wall more often than she would be able to otherwise. Stannis predictably didn’t smile at the message, though his eyes lingered on his daughter’s last words.

Eventually, Stannis carefully put Shireen’s message down on Jon’s desk.

“Tell me, did you want to be Lord Jon Stark of Winterfell?”

Jon stilled. _Why_ Stannis was bringing up that topic again…. “My sword was already sworn to the Night’s Watch when you made me that offer. I’d already said my vows…”

“I never cared about those damn vows,” said Stannis, cutting Jon off. “Not then and not now that I’ve said them myself. Did you want it?”

“Yes,” Jon answered back, but not before taking a long swallow of the ale that had come with his breakfast. He had wanted Winterfell more than anything, despite all the reasons why he knew he shouldn’t. Being the Lord of Winterfell had been a dream of his since he had learned what the surname Snow had meant, but the lordship wouldn’t be worth it if no Starks were left but him. “Yes I did.”

Stannis didn’t argue with that, likely because he heard the truth and sincerity in Jon’s voice. Jon said nothing more for a time, content to simply stare at all of the piles of parchment on his desk. _Lord Jon Stark of Winterfell_. Hearing that name again brought something else to mind…

“If you didn’t want to be king, Your Grace, what did you want? How would you choose to live your life, if the realm was at peace?”

Jon wondered if Stannis would respond to that. It was a rather personal question, but so had the question about his wanting to be the Lord of Winterfell.

“I would live out my life at Storm’s End, where my family has lived for thousands of years,” Stannis confessed. “I’d live at Storm’s End with my daughter, Ser Davos and his family, and a son of my own.”

“A son?” Jon’s breath caught in his throat.

“Yes…A dutiful young man who I could teach to be a good fighter and an even better lord, someone I could be proud of. Someone like you.”

 _Those_ words comforted Jon more that Stannis’ earlier ones about duty, though he would never admit it aloud. Somehow, both of them admitting to truths long kept buried had somehow healed whatever had been broken between them the night before.

“All those reports about the White Walkers are concerning.” Stannis’ statement brought Jon back to the current situation.

“I know.”

“Perhaps your idea of riding to the Nightfort isn’t such a bad one after all.”

_Is that actually an apology for calling me an emotional fool last night?_

Stannis seemed to be reading Jon’s thoughts. “Given the information we had available to us last night, your idea was terrible.”

_I’ll take that as a no._

Stannis continued. “One garrison might try and trick their Lord Commander, but all of those west of Castle Black, including Denys Mallister at the Shadow Tower? I don’t believe that we have a mutiny of such a grand scale on our hands just yet, so the only other possibility is that there must be must be some truth in all of the messages.”

“I agree.”

Stannis stood up, and Jon’s eyes followed him as he walked around the desk and stopped right in front of Jon and held out his hand. Jon stared at it, his gaze traveling from the hand to Stannis’ face and back again.

“We have some planning to do, Lord Snow.” Stannis voice was resolute. “I said before that this was the foe that I was born to fight, and I still stand by those words. I will do all in my power as First Ranger to help the Night’s Watch—and my Lord Commander—defeat these demons.”

Jon stared at Stannis’ hand for so long that it began to tremble, as if Stannis regretted the decision to offer it but was too stubborn to take it back. By the Old Gods and the New the two of them shouldn’t be in this situation at all. Instead of Lord Snow and Lord Stannis it should be King Stannis and Lord Snow. Or perhaps King Stannis and Lord Jon Stark or King Stannis and Ser Jon of the Kingsguard. _I would like that,_ Jon thought. _I would like working with Stannis, but answering to him as an equal or a trusted sword. I’m not his superior and I don’t want to be_. But that was not the plan that fate had in store, and all Jon could do was persevere and do his duty.

A smile began to form on Jon’s face, and he grasped Stannis’ hand with both of his in such a firm grip that there would be no doubt as to his intentions.

END

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Daenerys and Stannis: I’ve always wondered if Dany and Stannis would meet, given Dany’s vision in the House of the Undying of a “blue-eyed king who cast no shadow.” Both characters can be extremely stubborn and will seemingly do anything to sit the throne that they believe is theirs _by rights_. I would like to think that Dany and Stannis could put aside their differences to fight the White Walkers, but it wouldn’t surprise me if Dany used her dragons to put her “enemies” in their place. 
> 
>  
> 
> 2\. “ _Lightbringer_!” Stannis gave a derisive snort. “It glimmers prettily, I’ll grant you, but on the Blackwater this magic sword served me no better than any common steel.”
> 
> Stannis, _A Storm of Swords_ Davos V
> 
> Despite Stannis’ partnership with Melisandre, I doubt that he believes all of her fervent proclamations that he’s Azor Ahai with Lightbringer. He essentially tells Davos that he believes Lightbringer to be a fake in the quote above. Given that, it seems that Stannis would appreciate Jon being able to see through the glamour of the sword in this story.  
>  
> 
> 3\. “One day I remembered how Edward had told me that Geoffrey’s last letter, written two days before he was killed at Moncy-le-Preux, had ended with the words: ‘Till we meet again, Here or in the Hereafter.’ Had they met now in the hereafter, I wondered? On the whole I could not believe that they had. Edward, like Roland, had promised me that if a life existed beyond the grave, he would somehow come back and make me know of it. I had thought that, of the two, Roland, with his reckless determination, would be more likely to trespass from the infinite across the boundaries of the tangible, and incur any penalties that might be imposed. But he had sent no sign and Edward sent none; nor did I expect one. I knew now that death was the end and that I was quite alone. There was no hereafter, no Easter morning, no meeting again; I walked in the darkness, a dumbness, a silence, which no beloved voice would penetrate, no fond hope illumine.”
> 
> Vera Brittain, _Testament of Youth_ (446), Penguin Classics Edition
> 
>  _Testament of Youth_ is Vera Brittain’s memoir of her adolescence and how the tragedies of WWI shaped her character and outlook on life. She loses her brother, her fiancé, and her two other close male friends to the war, and the passage above where she confesses that she’s lost her faith in the afterlife is easily one of the most heartbreaking parts of the work. It reminded me very much of Stannis’ tale about watching his parents drown and his admission to Davos about why he’s essentially an atheist, and thus Stannis paraphrases Brittain’s views about the finality of death in this story.
> 
>  
> 
> 4\. The main focus in this story is Stannis and Jon relearning how to work together and respect each other. (Thus the Lifehouse song about starting over after having gone through hell.) I find the prospect of switching their power dynamics quite intriguing, and for any reader who has read other fanfics of mine, you probably know by now that I enjoy writing about Stannis, Jon, and their relationship in general, as well as focusing on the father/son layers between them ;). Neither Stannis nor Jon particularly desires power, but if it falls upon them to wear a title by gods they'll do their duty until they die. I do wonder if Stannis' fate in the books is to become the 1000th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, as it wouldn't be a terrible end for him, and his personality seems to fit with the stark North. He declares to Jon in _A Storm of Swords_ that the White Walkers are the foe he his born to fight, so what better way could he do that than leading the Night's Watch once he realizes that his quest for the Iron Throne is fruitless if the dead keep walking? Granted, there are other reasons that Stannis could join the Night's Watch, such as the reason presented in this story, personal guilt...the list could go on. 
> 
> The story posted on the livejournal community mentioned in the beginning notes is a Stannis/Jon version of the same tale, rated PG-13. You are welcome to read it [HERE](http://got-exchange.livejournal.com/174609.html) (the community is locked but open for anyone with a livejournal account to join). As more of a challenge to myself I wrote both a slash and non-slash version of the story, though the slash version only really differs in section IX. The ending is still the same, with Stannis resolving to work with Jon much like Jon promised to work with him at the start, there's just an added layer to their relationship that doesn't negate/trump/erase anything else. If that's not your thing please just ignore this!


End file.
